Take It All
by ninajunkie
Summary: It’s true, you know. That the moment everything falls apart, the one in need always runs to the person they’ve been reaching out to all along.


Yes, another one-shot. But don't scream and yell at me for not updating my stories before posting this because it was for the dmhg fic exchange over at livejournal. Life has just been crazy with unexpected things happening. I don't want to go into details about my personal life, but I did just recently have a friend die, so it's been hard on everyone. Especially me since I was the last one to talk to him.

And I know that this isn't the best I could do, and I might just have to make her another story, because frankly, I really disliked this one. And it's all in present tense. R&R

**Take It All**

She feels the dread cover her tiny body, crushing her bones, while she walks with a steady pace down the never-ending sidewalk. The feeling had been instantaneous, almost like it had never existed before, pouring over her all at once. The sign of trepidation sends shivers down her spine, but she tries to make her mind believe that the November night air had made it happen. Just like before.

And once again, the guilt overflows after the dread begins to pass, just like every other time. The guilt of what had just happened, and the guilt of not being able to take it back. But the culpability that defeats her harder than any stone is the guilt that she doesn't want it to stop. She would have never begun the games if it wasn't something she wanted. Something she still desires.

The soles of her professional high heels, pounds against the lifeless concrete beneath her feet as she slowly makes progress to reach her house.

But is it really home?

Her chocolate locks of hair fall behind her as the chilly wind combined with the slight speed of her trip, pushes through the strands. The waves are slowing entangling themselves with one another, but she pays no mind to it. All she wants is to arrive at the one place she can find shelter in.

She's still clothed with her blue dress suit she had worn to work, never wanting to take it off to be outfitted in something more casual. Every time, she remembered that _he_ likes seeing her in clothes from work. The clothing that's the symbol for everything she had worked hard for in the past. It stands for how undeniably pleased she is when sitting behind her desk. But it also reminds her of who would be the last person each day to see her in it.

And even after _he_ made a remark about the chills wandering about outside, she had still refused to apparate home. She likes walking home. It gives her time to think, and time to convince herself that she should be happy with the life she has slowly made for herself. But she's never too convincing and her reasonable side never agrees.

It finally comes into view. The house she shares with the man who had given his life to her, who had vowed to love her until the day he died. The house that has room for almost ten people to live in, but only inhabits two. The house that still to this day never makes her _feel_ comfortable. It never offered the comfort that _home_ was supposed to fill her with.

She knows her husband is home, so it's about time she put on her content face, hold everything in, and put away the guilt.

Silence overtakes the area as she takes her first step inside the house. It's almost too intimidating, for the silence was never too much or too haunting. Not knowing if she should continue or not, she calls out her husband's name, receiving nothing in return.

The steps are creaking, one by one, purposefully disturbing the silence. The hinges on the door also decide to squeak, not caring of the situation they are interrupting.

There he is. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread apart to offer him more comfort with his elbows rested roughly atop his knees. His hands connected in the middle of the empty space and his body refusing to move a single inch after noticing her appearance. His head is bowed down, looking to the floor, almost forcibly keeping his eye contact there and not on his wife.

Just as he isn't moving, she refuses to get any closer in fear of what is bothering him, so she stands in the doorway, cowering in fright.

The threatening silence becomes too much, so she moves into the room, putting up with his challenge just to release her body of the clothing she's been wearing all day. She begins to unzip the back of her dress, when his voice finally releases from his throat.

"You love him, don't you?" His eyes are still staring at the floor, but he knows the answer.

"What?" she replies back, surprised at his boldness. Her hand stops as she finishes unzipping the dress, acting as though she does not understand what he has said. Because his tone of voice strictly points out that it is not a question. But the dark blue dress still clings to her body.

"You heard me, Hermione. Do you love him?" His voice is so unreadable, that Hermione is scared of what his reaction will be to her answer.

"Who? Who am I supposed to love other than you, Ron?" She immediately regrets saying the one word she should not have slipped out. _Supposed_, as if feeling something towards him is an obligation, not something she should be doing out of freewill.

But it's true. So heart-wrenching true that she can literally feel her stomach drop, knowing that his eyes are turning hard with anger, even though his head is still bowed down. Everything to her is just an obligation. Just routine. The way she thought her married life was always going to be. And it is, but it's not _life_.

"I see…" he says, dropping his face into his now open palms, letting go of all the air that had been held tight in his chest. All of his frustration tries to escape during these long seconds as he exhales, but it fails. Anger is just quickly building up and maybe… soon it will be released.

She moves out of their closet, taking her steps faster and with more force than she would any other day. But today is not normal, and every cell in her bloodstream is telling her that. "That's not how I meant it, love!" she tried saying in a sweet voice, but it came out anything but.

Just like a rope on the end of a twenty ton anvil, he snapped. "You didn't mean it?" His face finally lifts up, and now she sees the anger and disappointment reflecting on his face, as well as the redness. "You _didn't_ mean it? Because you know how it sounded to me? It seems as if loving me is a requirement here! You're my wife, Hermione! Of course you're supposed to have some feeling of affection towards me, but that bloody ring on your finger means that _I_ love you!" He pointed to the single gold band on the ring finger of her left hand. "And you see this ring?" He stuck out his hand in her face, after standing up, to get his point across. "It was assumed that you loved me when you slipped it on my own finger."

"Ron! Calm down, please." She breaths her own breathe of fresh air, silently praying that a crack won't appear down the side of the earth. "I _do_ love you—"

"But what?" He interrupts. "I know there is a 'but' in there."

"God damn it Ronald! Can't you just accept the statement I have given you and drop this whole thing because I have absolutely no idea what is going on here!" She throws her hands up in the air for a dramatic effect, her dress scrunching up in the back, and then turns away so she no longer has to look at him. She slips her black pumps off from her feet, and walks back towards the closet, her mind set on forgetting everything and to just take a relaxing bath.

"Do you love him?" the redhead asks to his wife's back.

Her front side is now visible as she snaps around, now only dressed in her black lace bra and knickers. But her face is no longer pale, as she begins to shout at him, "Who, Ron? Who?"

"I saw you with him, so don't deny it!" When she says absolutely nothing, he begins his let-out of even more words. "Bloody hell, you're beginning to act like him. He's turned you into a completely different person! Jesus, Hermione. You've been sneaking around… Lying… And going against morals you once had!" His shouting has become more evident and louder that Hermione's ears are starting to ring.

"What morals? Having lunch with a friend? Since when has reconnecting with my past been a sin, huh?"

"Fuck, Hermione! He's an enemy… How can you possibly be reconnecting with him if you've never connected beforehand? How can you just throw away seven years of torture and then smile at him like none of it happened? How can you seriously—"

"—Ron!" she interrupts.

"No, Hermione, I'm not done!"

"I don't care if you're done or not, I'm not going to listen to this!" She turns away from him yet again, retreating into the bathroom connected from their bedroom. The tap water is running from the faucet, garbling up her husband's words, but unfortunately she can still hear his shouting.

"He killed Dumbledore! Did you forget about that?" His face is now red enough to have a competition with his unruly hair.

The brunette immediately spins around, a vase in her right hand preparing herself to throw it at his face. "He did not kill him and you _know_ that!"

"I don't give a shit if he said the spell or not, he had put our Headmaster in that compromising position and if it wasn't for his thoughtless mind to follow that hideous monster's orders, we would have had our leader's help throughout the war!" To this day, he still doesn't have enough courage to blatantly say the once-Dark-Lord's name.

"It doesn't matter, we made it to the end of it all, our side won and that's all there is to it! Forget about the past alright?"

"Well, apparently you already have, because it seems to have slipped your mind that you're _married_!"

The purple vase that had once been filled with lavender daisies is immediately sent flying towards Ron's head, but he manages to duck in time to avoid a bump forming on his forehead. It slams against the wall on the opposite end of the room, the broken pieces falling to the floor without a second thought as they are left unnoticed.

"I haven't fucked him, you dolt!" she shouts louder, the walls are practically vibrating with the harshness that seems to be in her voice.

But now he has given up with the shouting games, and slides against the wall to sit on the floor, his head now resting between his knees. "Just answer my question," he whispers, "do you love him?"

No reply. No movement. Not even a breath escapes.

"You don't smile at me the way you do when you're with him. Laughter never sounds so beautiful from your throat when you're with me. And your eyes don't sparkle with that blazing fire when I'm around."

She can't see it, but Hermione knows that his fight to hold back the tears has finally been lost.

"Ron… It's not like that," she pleads, but he pays no mind to her cries.

"I know you love him, but I need to hear you say it," he whispers. _'So my heart can finally be fully broken,'_ he thinks to himself in a dramatic-slash-romantic sort of way.

"Ron…" she cries once again, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, "…I love _you_."

"Just say it." He's still whispering, but the fierceness is still in his voice as he prepares himself for the ultimate breakdown. Instead of an abrupt reaction, Hermione follows in her husband's actions and slides to the floor as well, still half exposed.

It's barely audible, but he knows she doesn't mean it yet. And he wants to hear her say it as if _he_ was in the room with her. "Sorry, but I didn't catch that."

"I love him…"

Thirty minutes are slowly passing by as no words are exchanged, but many tears are shed. He still has not moved his head from their resting position in between his legs, and she has not moved her gaze from the tiled wall in front of her. The water from the tub is still escaping the metal faucet, but quickly falling through the drain that has yet to be plugged up. The wind is beating harder against the window as the sun has now fully set.

He finally stirs, but just to rustle his hair.

"What do you want from him?"

There it is. That feeling of dread is quickly rushing over her body once more and Hermione Granger is forever changed as it refuses to disappear like it had done before. She has no idea of what to say yet again in fear of the response that would emit from the man sitting a mere five feet away from her.

"It's not about wanting anything…"

"Then need! What is it that you need from the bastard?"

"No," she whispers softly, this time her head bowing, "nothing."

"Then what the fuck is it, Hermione?"

"It's that he's willing."

"So what? I've been willing for years upon years, but that isn't enough for you. Love and money and devotion and trust aren't enough for you!"

"I guess not." Will he ever understand, she wonders. Of course he won't because he's content having to go to a high-end job everyday and not having to worry about living in a massive house without joyous faces in every corner. He's content with that and she's not. But it's more than that. It's so much more than that.

"So what is he willing to do?"

"I want to give it all away. And he's willing to take it."

**XXX**

The wind is pushing around harder and colder than before, as Hermione is standing straight across from a front door to an apartment. In her hands, she's holding a large suitcase that has been perceptibly overstuffed with her belongings and is struggling to hold onto it without toppling over.

Her petite body is no longer covered in expensive material made into a dress, but she's clothed in the most comfortable cotton pants and a big enough muggle shirt to cover her stomach from the chilling wind. She didn't even bother with putting on a coat because all the ones she owns—or had owned—had been paid for with Ron's money and she refused to keep them.

So here she stands outside of the one place she figures she could go to. It _is_ the one man they had been fighting over, so why not?

The heavy suitcase bangs with a dull sound onto the concrete ground so she can free her hands in order to knock on the darkly coloured door.

It faintly seems as though hours have passed before the door swings open, but in reality it has only been twenty seconds. Not a single word escapes from his mouth as the stormy eyes stare at her in utter disbelief. She's staring back into his eyes, silently begging for help as the golden-brown orbs are now misting over with tears. But words still do not escape his slightly paling lips as he moves to the side, allowing her to pass through. Grabbing her suitcase from the floor, he follows.

He doesn't even have to ask a single question, he instantly knows what events have happened before she arrived. He knows that he probably shouldn't comment on the past situations and on the fact that she could have chosen someone else to run to, and he won't. He never will. It isn't his place to and he knows that it never will be. He will never be able to fill an empty hole, but only dig deeper into it.

Even though they have met many times before, she had never been inside of his place, but that simple fact doesn't stop her as she slowly and quietly makes her way to his bedroom. And he doesn't stop her. He knows that she needs some sort of comfort, and she reaches out for it the only way she knows how.

No words ever escape their lips as she climbs into his bed, slips under the covers, and closes her eyes. All she wants and all she needs is someone to protect her, shield her from anything that may come. And that is what she gets. She's willing to give everything away. All the pain, all the regrets from the past, and all the memories of a life she never should have been dropped into in the first place. And he is the only one willing to take it from her.

There were many times in the past ten years or so that he had begged to be the one to help her. But every time she refused. Because every time she thought there was someone else willing to take her away from everything, but there never was.

Even before Hermione's marriage to the redhead, he had asked to be saved. And she did. She was the one to save him from a life he had regretted, but she wouldn't let him save her in return. She turned him down every chance she had, but he never gave up. Not once. Because he was the only one who could see that she never loved Ron. Draco was the only one to see The Golden Trio for what they really were: a routine.

But now is not the time to say 'I told you so' and he knows that. So he just stands there on the side of the bed looking down upon her, wishing that the hurt she feels will stop showing. But he knows that there is nothing he can do except to be patient with her.

He's taken out of his trance while deep in thought, as he feels her smooth skin rub against his hand. She tugs lightly on his hand, wanting him closer to her. She wants to feel warmth. And for the first time in life, she goes through with what she wants.

And he wants it too, but for a split second he feels remorse. But as quickly as her own guilt disappears, his does too and his body leans down towards her own. And as his body moves closer to her, so does his face along with his lips. They get as close as possible without touching each other. His patience holds just as he had promised and he doesn't act on impulse to pull her to his body to steal a kiss. Instead, she tugs on his waist with a fierceness she had never shown and their lips finally touch.

There isn't an epiphany and there are no fireworks and time doesn't stop. It keeps going as the seconds pass as their mouths open and close to hold their own. To them, it's just a kiss while asking for something more than just a lifetime full of mistakes. They don't want love and they're not begging for happiness. All they want is for the aches to quit intensifying.

As the thunder rolls and the lightening gives them the only light for the night and the silence is broken by their cries, the world goes on. Their bodies move across one another, bare skin touching bare skin, and in those quiet moments, they somehow receive what they've both been wanting. And as he fucks her the way she asks to be, he knows that he had finally taken everything from her. In turn, she takes it all from him.

It's true, you know. That the moment everything falls apart, the one in need always runs to the person they've been reaching out to all along.

She had always been silently begging for him to take her apart and put her back together again, but she always pushed away. And he never let go. It was what she wanted the whole time. All she needed was someone to not give up on her.


End file.
